Mad Boy's Love Song
by Sunset Tower
Summary: I write to you all the time, but I no longer know if you're real. Allen/Lavi, one-shot. Inspired by Sylvia Plath's "Mad Girl's Love Song".


**Title: **Mad Boy's Love Song

**Notes:** I have all sorts of stuff in my D. Gray-man fanfic folder I've never uploaded. This seemed decent enough to upload :)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own D. Gray-man and "Mad Girl's Love Song", and will never presume that I do.

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><p>When the boy turns around and looks at the sea he thinks, there's a kind of love in this world that is exquisite, pure, and entirely out of reach. He smiles when he thinks of the novels his friend so loves. Novels of sweet sweet love, love at sixteen, eighteen, twenty and more. Midnight walks on the beaches of white, white sand (like sugar), candlelit dinners (with oysters), sunset picnics (with champagne), theme park visits with laughter (and haunted houses), a sweet morning wake-up call (warmth and static over the ear). He thinks that's a kind of world everyone would like to live in.<p>

He sings quietly to the sea, _I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead_.

.

Dear Lavi, he writes, and pauses at that point. The ink of the comma spreads outward until he remembers to lift the nub off the paper. He wonders what to write.

Dear Lavi, I went to see the sea today and I thought of you. That sounds like a fine starting line, if not a little creepy. He opens the drawer on his right and touches, absently, the stack of yellowing paper in yellowing envelopes with their dates printed on the covers. When he turns over some of them he sees _August 1993_, _May 1994_, and on the top of the bunch one with _June 1995_. He looks at his paper and writes, carefully,

_Dear Lavi, I went to see the sea today and I thought of you. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed and sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane_.

.

November 9, 1996 is a fine date to write his letter, if only because it marks seven years since the Berlin Wall fell, as Lavi quite likes to remind him so. Lavi likes his letters to be written on memorable dates. He tries to give him that if he can. He can't quite remember his birthday, so he makes do with writing things on Christmas. He imagines that Lavi will write funny things back sometimes, things that he imagines are quite poetic, from novels themselves,

_Dear Allen, it is night-time here. The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, and arbitrary blackness gallops in_.

He would read the lines over and over again, murmuring to himself. He sings, _I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead_. He imagines Lavi doing the same miles away, eye shut and swaying to the light of the moon. He likes to think it, it makes him smile.

.

When 1997 rolls around he shuts his eyes and thinks of homecoming. There's no romance, he thinks. These days there's nothing but life and work. Romance is reduced to renting a flat together. He thinks it might be a few more years before a love, not exquisite, not pure, but his, can return within his grasp. He is trying to remember, a face, a smile, a colour, but everything seems fuzzy now, out of his reach.

_Dear Lavi, it is finally 1997, it has been four years. I fancied you'd return the way you said, but I grow old and I forget your name_.

He remembers how the name rolls off his tongue. He can do it anytime he wants, can say the name and feel how empty it is when there's no answering call. But he can't see the image so clearly behind the name anymore. The pictures he has are faded and yellow, they do not match the red he remembers, the green of his thoughts. He smiles and thinks, _I think I made you up inside my head_.

In his best dreams he thinks of four years ago, when Lavi can hold a book and tell him, in that entranced way, _God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: exit seraphim and Satan's men_. He misses those times. It was a time simple and clean, when he didn't have to think much of anything except meeting, and talking, and laughing. It feels like a time out of reach.

He seals the envelope and writes the date. He closes his eyes, and thinks,

_I should have loved a thunderbird instead; at least when spring comes they roar back again._

He drops the envelope into his drawer – he imagines dropping it into a mailbox beside the sea and waiting for the tides to bring it away.

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)_

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><p><span>Sylvia Plath – Mad Girl's Love Song<span>

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;  
>I lift my lids and all is born again.<br>(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,  
>And arbitrary blackness gallops in:<br>I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed  
>And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.<br>(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:  
>Exit seraphim and Satan's men:<br>I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,  
>But I grow old and I forget your name.<br>(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;  
>At least when spring comes they roar back again.<br>I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.  
>(I think I made you up inside my head.)<p> 


End file.
